


watch me crumble, i'm giving in to you

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's not sure how long he stands in the bathroom after getting up, staring at the mirror. His cheek and jaw resemble a Jackson Pollock painting, a swirling canvas of black and blue and purple. There's a matching spot on his ribs, aching and pulling every time he moves. He skims his fingertips along his jaw, flinching at the sting before stepping back. He dreads going to the park, for a moment wishes he was a normal person with the option of calling in but it would be useless. These marks aren't going to go away any time soon.</p><p>Title taken from Giving In by Adema.</p>
            </blockquote>





	watch me crumble, i'm giving in to you

**Author's Note:**

> Triggery for domestic violence.

He's not sure how long he stands in the bathroom after getting up, staring at the mirror. His cheek and jaw resemble a Jackson Pollock painting, a swirling canvas of black and blue and purple. There's a matching spot on his ribs, aching and pulling every time he moves. He skims his fingertips along his jaw, flinching at the sting before stepping back. He dreads going to the park, for a moment wishes he was a normal person with the option of calling in but it would be useless. These marks aren't going to go away any time soon.

Whereas he's usually arriving about the same time most of the other guys are, this time he's one of the stragglers. The clubhouse is full when he arrives and he keeps his head down, trying not to meet anybody's eyes. He doesn't even make it halfway too his locker before he's waylaid and being drilled with questions about what the hell happened to his face. He doesn't know how to respond, just says over and over again that it's nothing, it's no big deal, he's fine until he's ordered to Bochy's office.

Mostly he stares at his knees and avoids the questions. When Bochy asks, exasperated, if he was beat up and why he won't talk about it, he flinches. He's not sure which coach brings up mugging but he pounces on it gratefully. Maybe they can see right through the act, maybe they can't. What matters is that they seem to realize that they're not going to get anything else out of him. He's shipped off with Groeschner to be checked out. When they finally let him return to the clubhouse, he changes for the game and finds a spot to hide.

It's hard to avoid the guys, especially since he's not up in the lineup and doesn't have the luxury of being out on the field to get away from them. The only one who seems to at all understand that he doesn't want to talk about it is Cain., who sets himself up as a buffer against the rest of the team during the game and against the press when the game is over. Every gentle touch and concerned look puts him closer to the edge.

He gets out of the park as soon as he can, goes straight home and locks the door behind him. His phone is filling up with messages from people who saw him on TV or heard about him being 'mugged' and making sure he's okay. He settles for a generic 'I'm okay, everything is fine' to respond to every inquiry. Even not looking anyone in the eye, his cheeks won't stop burning with embarrassment.

Brandon feels weak and so stupid, so ashamed of himself. Things like this don't happen to guys like him.

When the buzzer rings through the apartment, he cringes and stares at the panel next to the front door chewing hard on his lip. When he punches the button for the camera, he sighs when he sees Pence's face filling the screen. He thinks about ignoring him but if Brandon doesn't let him into the building, Pence will likely just swipe his hand down the panel and someone in another apartment will. Brandon doesn't bother saying anything, just pushes the button to open the front door of the building before unlocking the door of his apartment.

He returns to his couch with his soda and a bowl of noodles, pushing his fork through them. Less than five minutes later, the front door of the apartment is opening. Pence sits on the couch next to him without a word. They watch Moneyball in silence and by the time Beane has expressed his intention to turn the tables on the casino, Brandon's noodles are gone and his soda is empty.

Pence raises a hand, brushes his fingertips over carefully over the bruises along Brandon's jaw before the hand slides through his hair. He leans in and kisses Brandon's temple, breath warm against Brandon's skin as he whispers, “What happened to you, baby? Who did this to you?”

The tears well up before Brandon can stop them. He shakes his head, swallows back the sob and any words that might want to shoot out of him on impulse. He doesn't resist, though, when Pence pulls him in close and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He stares at the carpet before closing his eyes and pressing his face into Pence's shoulder.

Distantly, he can hear that the TV is still going but the only thing in the world that registers right now is the warm body against his own and the feeling of fingers stroking Brandon's hair. Lips against the top of Brandon's head are what makes him come undone. He bites his lips and clenches his eyes shut, his voice is a ragged whisper.

“I don't know, Pence. I thought... I'm supposed to hate him but he was, he made me feel like the hate, the rivalry, it wasn't worth it. He really had me convinced. And then last night I go and open my stupid mouth and it went wrong so so quickly. I don't even know what happened. I don't know what I did wrong. I feel so stupid. Look at me. I'm bigger than he is. This shouldn't be happening to me.”

“You tell him it was over?”

“I did. He's not happy.”

“I'm proud of you.”

Brandon laughs into Pence's shirt, sharp and bitter. “Why would you at all be proud of me?”

“Because you ended it. Some people don't make it that far... even when this happens.” Pence answers quietly, running his thumb along Brandon's jaw. “You're going to be okay. He's not going to hurt you again.”

“You don't even know who he is.”

“I don't care who he is. I'm not going to let him hurt you again. Nobody's going to touch you, Belt. Not while I'm around.”

The conviction and determination in Pence's voice makes Brandon's eyes sting with more tears but it's also so, so confusing. Because it doesn't make any sense that someone like Pence would think that Brandon is that important. It doesn't make any sense that someone would want to take care of him. He doesn't understand how he could be at all important to someone like Pence, someone who could have anyone he wanted with one crook of his finger. He'd not the kind of guy who would settle for damaged goods. He could do so much better.

“Why are you doing this?” Brandon whispers, looking up at Pence with stinging, aching, burning eyes. “You... you could have anybody.”

“And what if you're the one that I want?”

“I think you have incredibly low standards.”

“You don't see what I see.”

“What do you see?” Brandon asks. He can't help himself, he has to ask but he's afraid of the answer.

“Someone beautiful. Someone sweet. Someone who deserves a fuck of a lot more than he thinks he does. Someone I want to make smile again. Tell me I get to try.”

Brandon shakes his head a little, doesn't look Pence in the eyes. “I can't tell you that. I'm messed up. I don't know how badly I'm going to screw up from one day to the next. I don't even know if I'm going to tuck tail and run the fuck away from you. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with my life, at all.”

Brandon doesn't know he's accepting this attention so easily. Not with what Han- not with what happened last night. It's too soon, he's no fit company for anyone. But he doesn't want to pull away. Whether he deserves this or not, whether he deserves this kind of faith and affection, that doesn't matter to him. What he knows is that he's wanted this, for so long. All he ever wanted, since Haylee left, was for someone to give a shit.

Pence is warm and gentle and he smells so good. There's something in his voice that tells Brandon that this is so much different than yesterday, than anything else that came before. He's quiet for so long, never saying a word, just waiting. Brandon knows what he's waiting for. He doesn't understand how Pence can be so certain about this, so certain that Brandon is worth the effort, is worth fixing.

“You can try. If you want.”

“That's the right answer, you'll see.” Pence answers. He kisses Brandon's hair again, hand moving in slow circles across Brandon's back.

Brandon hopes he's right.


End file.
